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will be universally recognized as an essential part of the frame of society. It forms, indeed, the alimentary sap of life, which, as it ascends through its different vessels, diffuses every where both health and strength.

      Lastly, we will now consider that other instinct of our nature, which, even as the strongest, most requires moral regulation and treatment. By all noble natures among civilized nations, in their best and purest times, this instinct has, by means of various moral relations, been spontaneously associated with a higher element. And, indeed, taken simply as inclination, it possesses some degree of affinity therewith. Such a strong inclination and hearty love, elevated to the bond of fidelity, receives thereby a solemn consecration, and is even, according to the divine dispensation, regarded as a sanctuary. And it is in truth the moral sanctuary of earthly existence, on which God’s first and earliest blessing still rests. It is, moreover, the foundation on which is built the happiness and the moral welfare of races and nations. This soul-connecting link of love, which constitutes the family union, is the source from which emanate the strong and beautiful ties of a mother’s love, of filial duty, and of fraternal affection between brethren and kindred, which together make up the invisible soul, and, as it were, the inner vital fluid of the nerves of human society. And here, too, the great family problem of education must be taken into account—and by education I mean the whole moral training of the rising generation. For, however numerous and excellent may be the institutions founded by the state, or conducted by private individuals, for special branches and objects, or for particular classes and ages, still, on the whole, education must be regarded as pre-eminently the business and duty of the family. For it is in the family that education commences, and there, also, it terminates and concludes at the moment when the young man, mature of mind and years, and the grown-up maiden, leave the paternal roof to found a new family of their own. In seasons of danger, and of wide-spread and stalking corruption, men are wont to feel—but often, alas! too late—how entirely the whole frame, both of human and political society, rests on this foundation of the family union. Not merely by the phenomena of our own times, but by the examples of the most civilized nations of antiquity, may this truth be historically proved; and numerous passages can be adduced from their great historians in confirmation of it. In all times and in all places a moral revolution within the domestic circle has preceded the public outbreaks of general anarchy, which have thrown whole nations into confusion, and undermined the best-ordered and wisely-constituted states. When all the principal joists of a building have started, and all its stays and fastenings, from the roof to the foundation, have become loose, then will the first storm of accident easily demolish the whole structure, or the first spark set the dry and rotten edifice in flames.

      Next in order and dignity to this soul-binding tie of a noble and virtuous love, which promotes and preserves the intimate union of all the parts of social life, another species or form of a lofty, a good, and a beautiful—nay, even of a sublime—endeavor, shows itself in what we call enthusiasm. The latter has for its positive object a thought which the soul having once intellectually embraced, is ever after filled and possessed with. But the mere inward idea does not suffice here, however it may in the case of the simple conception or admiration of a noble thought. The distinctive characteristic of enthusiasm is rather the untiring energy with which, even at great personal sacrifice, it labors to realize, or to preserve in realization, the idea which has once fully possessed the soul. The commonest form or species of this enthusiasm is patriotism, or the love of country, which best and most plainly manifests itself in seasons of national danger or calamity. As the daily life of the individual alternates between labor and rest, and the refreshing sleep of the night renews the strength which has been exhausted by the toils of the day, so is it on a larger scale with the public life of the state in its alternations between peace and war. For although peace is justly prized and desired, as the greatest of public blessings, still it is some comfort and compensation for its unavoidable absence, to know that the presence of war, and the struggle with its dangers and hardships, first awaken and call into being many of man’s best energies and noblest virtues, which, in uninterrupted peace and tranquillity, must have remained forever dormant. But, as is every where the case throughout the moral domain, a spurious enthusiasm stands close alongside of the true and genuine species, and requires to be carefully distinguished from it. Forced to speak of the love of country, and to paint its genuine traits, I rejoice that I am standing on one of its chosen and most familiar scenes, where my hearers will understand me at the first sound, when I declare that the true enthusiasm of patriotism reveals itself most plainly in misfortune—in the midst of deep and lasting calamities. Another characteristic is, that it does not arbitrarily set up its object, or capriciously make its own occasion, but at the first call of its hereditary sovereign rushes to the post of danger. The second mark, therefore, of a true patriotism is obedience, but an obedience associated with the forward energies of a fixed and prepared resolve, which far outruns the exact requisitions of duty, and gives rise to a true and real equality—the equality of self-sacrifice, wherein the high and noble vie with the poor and lowly in the magnanimous oblation to their country of their best and dearest possessions.

      Another generally known and admitted species of enthusiasm, viz., a taste for the arts, has not so universal a foundation in the constitution of the human mind as the feeling of patriotism, but implies a particular mental disposition, and certain natural endowments, and consequently the sphere of its operation is far narrower. But here, also, as in the former case, enthusiasm manifests itself as a property or state of the soul which is far from being contented with a calm philosophical contemplation, or admiration, of its inward thought, but which, longing eagerly to realize and exhibit externally the idea with which it is possessed, knows no rest nor peace till it has accomplished its cherished object. And such an ideal enthusiasm is not confined to the sphere of art alone, but even in the calmer regions of science is its influence felt. It is, in short, the animating impulse of all great inventions, creations, and discoveries. Without it Columbus would never have been able to overcome all the dangers and obstacles which beset the first design and the final consummation of his bold conception. But in the latter instances the object of enthusiasm is no longer a pure ideal, like that which animates the artist, but something great or new in the region of useful science, or of practical life. In every case, however, enthusiasm has for its object a something positive and real, which, even if it be not one which captivates the soul with its transcendent beauty and excellence, yet, at least, by its exalted nature fills it with wonder and admiration. Quite otherwise is it with a longing—an indefinite feeling of profound desire, which is satisfied with no earthly object, whether real or ideal, but is ever directed to the eternal and the divine. And although it presupposes, as the condition of its existence, no special genius or peculiar talents, but proceeds immediately out of the pure source of the divinely created and immortal soul—out of the everlasting feelings of the loving soul—still, from causes which are easily conceivable, a pure development of this species is far rarer than even of the enthusiasm for art. No doubt, in certain happy temperaments, under circumstances favorable to their free expansion, this vague longing is peculiar to the age of youth, and is often enough observed there. Indeed, it is in that soft melancholy, which is always joined with the half-unconscious, but pleasant feeling of the blooming fullness of life, that lies the charm which the reminiscence of the days of youth possesses for the calm and quiet contemplations of old age. Here, too, the distinctive mark between the genuine and the spurious manifestations of this feeling is both simple enough, and easily found. For as this longing may in general be explained as an inchoate state—a love yet to be developed—the question reduces itself consequently to the simple one of determining the nature of this love. If, upon the first development and gratification of the passions, this love immediately passes over to and loses itself in the ordinary realities of life, then is it no genuine manifestation of the heavenly feeling, but a mere earthly and sensual longing. But when it survives the youthful ebullition of the feelings, when it does but become deeper and more intense by time, when it is satisfied with no joys, and stifled by no sorrows of earth—when, from the midst of the struggles of life, and the pressure of the world, it turns, like a light-seeing eye upon the storm-tossed waves of the ocean of time, to the heaven of heavens, watching to discover there some star of eternal hope—then is it that true and genuine longing, which, directing itself to the divine, is itself also of a celestial origin. Out of this root springs almost every thing that is intellectually beautiful and great—even the love of scientific certainty itself, and of a profound knowledge

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